


Shroud

by Macx



Series: Fire and Ice [15]
Category: Knight Rider (1982)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-12
Updated: 2011-05-12
Packaged: 2017-10-19 07:55:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two Foundation scientists go missing, but seems to be a simple missing persons case turns out to be a game played with people's lives in the name of science and money....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shroud

   
 **One**

A missing persons case. Michael sighed and flipped through the meager collection of facts. It wasn’t so much a police case as one that hit the Foundation personally. He looked at the picture of Dr. Michelle Devereaux who had disappeared without a trace four days ago. About the same time FLAG had lost all contact to her colleague Paul Hagen. Last reports had them working in a lab complex near San Diego. Michelle Devereaux was French, borne in Lyon, living outside San Luis Obispo. She was a biologist and had been working for the Foundation Research Center for seven years now. She usually only went out into the field when her talents were required. Normally she did her research and investigation from the safety of her computer lab.  
Paul Hagen was a humane biologist with a background in psychological studies, equally employed by the FRC. Except for working on the same project lately, both people had no connections. FRC was a rather new sub-company of the Foundation, born out of the biological research branch of Wilton Knight’s original Foundation. It mostly aided those companies asking for independent assessments. Sometimes it also conducted studies on special projects, but the assessment service was more commonly used by independent firms.  
Now both scientists were missing. The police was scratching their heads, unable to find a trace of either Devereaux or Hagen, and Devon had finally decided to hand the case over to Michael. Michael had been busy with chasing down a thief the last two weeks and while Nick was technically working for FLAG, Devon was reluctant to hand him a case. That Nicholas MacKenzie was accompanying Michael for this one anyway had been both expected and ignored by Miles.  
“We’ll be at Global Headquarters in fifteen minutes, Michael.”  
Kitt’s calm voice drew him out of his musings and he dropped the folders on the other seat. His partner was driving while Michael had decided to catch up on the case, but there hadn’t been much to catch up on. He briefly glanced into the rearview mirror and discovered that Karr was following them at an equal speed.  
“Thanks, pal.”  
“Any ideas on the case?”  
“None at all,” Michael confessed.  
Kitt handed over control of the car to his driver. “I called ahead. We are expected.”  
Michael nodded. “Thanks.”  
Both black cars took the next exit off the highway.

“Why are we here?”  
Nick smiled as he followed the TransAm off the highway.  “Because it’s our new case, Karr.”  
“Kitt and Knight were the ones selected for it. I thought you wanted to handle the Colorado Springs case.”  
“That can wait. Nothing in Colorado Springs requires our presence. I think this is a welcome variation from the routine.”  
Karr rumbled something. “It’s missing persons. Nothing extraordinary.”  
“Maybe, but it’s a missing persons case concerning the Foundation directly. I think that is extraordinary. Who would kidnap or even kill two FRC scientists? It’s too suspicious and immediately draws attention.”  
“Our attention,” Karr remarked.  
“Exactly. I had a look into FRC’s cooperation with Global. Highly interesting to say the least.” He set the indicator and turned left.  
A first sign told them that Global’s headquarters was two miles further down the street.

*

Global was a growing biotechnological company, specializing in the artificial production of insulin. It was a low, square white building with a meticulously groomed lawn around it, some decorative trees and a large car park for customers and employees. That was where Nick and Michael parked the cars. They approached the large glass front of the entrance area, the window panes darkened, looking like a massive, frozen ice palace. The doors slid open automatically, leading into the atrium where a reception desk stood. Light poured in through the windows and the artificial light of the large lamps set into the gray stone ceiling increased the effect. Four people occupied the long, u-shaped reception desk. Monitors cluttered the desk and three of the four were guards. The forth was a young woman in a business dress.  
"How may I help you?" she asked politely.  
"Michael Knight, Nicholas MacKenzie. Foundation for Law and Government," Michael introduced them formally.  
"Ah, yes. Ms. de Brouille is expecting you." The young woman gestured at one of the guards. "Mark will show you to her office."  
Mark, a short, wiry man in his late forties, if Michael was any guess of age, led them down the atrium to a row of elevators. Once inside, he saw that there were only four floors, the fourth floor purely for private matters and secured with a card mechanism. No one would be able to get there without the proper key card. Their stop was on three and the elevator doors opened to a rather functional looking corridor without extra adornments but a few neutral pictures. They stopped at a door with a golden name plate saying 'Dr. Jeanne de Brouille' and Mark knocked. He opened the door even though there was no reply to his knocking, then stepped back and made a gesture for them to enter.  
The office room behind the door was a mix between a modern lab and an old office. The wooden desk that served as a work station was battered and scratched, there was a well-used rug on the floor and the shelves contained rows of books, family pictures and some miscellaneous decorations. One side of the room was dominated by a computer, and adjacent to it a lab table with various tools and a modern microscope.  
"Mr. Knight. I've been expecting you."  
The owner of the office was a woman in her fifties, slim and tanned, her brown hair shot through with a lot of gray and held back out of her face, wrapped in a tight bun. She had warm brown eyes in a narrow face. Now she looked at Nick, bestowing a polite smile on him.  
“I’m afraid I didn’t expect two visitors.”  
“A colleague of mine,” Michael said with a smile. “Nicholas MacKenzie.”  
“Ah, welcome. I wish your visit here had happier reasons."  
"We wouldn't be here if not for the unhappy reason," Nick said neutrally.  
"Of course." Dr. de Brouille didn't seem to be put off by Nick's words. "I believe you would want to take a tour of the complex and hear about us."  
Michael nodded. "Might be a good start. We'd also like to know about what the doctors Hagen and Devereaux worked on while here." He had read the files, but it was always of advantage to hear it directly and see the complex. Printed paper was a patient medium. Hearing people talk sometimes added more belief or lies to the reports.  
"I don’t know much about your colleagues' activities while not within the confines of the Global complex, of course. They were here as watchers, to report back to the Foundation on our progress and such. There were never any problems and my team cooperated on every level. Their disappearance was as much a shock to us as to you."  
Nick’s expression didn’t change, but Michael had worked with him long enough to notice the flicker in the blue eyes.  
“We are expecting their replacements any day,” de Brouille went on. “Let me show you around. Do you know of our work here, Mr. Knight?"  
Michael shook his head. "Not much. Only that Global is working in the biotech sector of sciences and that is has to do something with insulin production."  
Jeanne nodded. "Let me give you an explanation, starting from the beginning." They walked toward the elevators and got into the second elevator, not the one Michael and Nick had arrived in.  
"Insulin is a hormone, and therefore, a protein," Dr. de Brouille started. "Insulin is secreted by groups of cells within the pancreas called islet cells. The pancreas also produces digestive enzymes and other hormones. Carbohydrates -- or sugars -- are absorbed from the intestines into the bloodstream after a meal. Insulin is then secreted by the pancreas in response to this detected increase in blood sugar. Most cells of the body have insulin receptors which bind the insulin that is in the circulation. When a cell has insulin attached to its surface, the cell activates other receptors designed to absorb glucose, the sugar, from the blood stream into the inside of the cell."  
She looked at them, a silent inquiry if they were still following. Michael smiled, Nick didn't move a muscle. The elevator went down, lower than the ground level, and Michael saw that there were three lab floors underground.  
"Without insulin, you can eat lots of food and actually be in a state of starvation since many of our cells cannot access the calories contained in the glucose very well without the action of insulin. This is why Type 1 diabetics can become very ill without insulin shots. Insulin is a necessary hormone. Those who develop a deficiency must have it replaced via shots or pumps. More commonly, people will develop insulin resistance, Type 2 Diabetes, rather than a true deficiency of insulin. In this case, the levels of insulin in the blood are similar or even a little higher than in normal, non-diabetic individuals. However, many cells of Type 2 diabetics respond sluggishly to the insulin they make and therefore their cells cannot absorb the sugar molecules well. This leads to blood sugar levels which run higher than normal."  
Another look, another smile. Michael was still following the explanation. Nick was studying the elevator control panel, as if he wasn’t at all interested in the scientific explanation. Michael knew it was the complete opposite. His friend was attentive to each word.  
"This is where Global comes in. Our goal is to help diabetics restore their hormone storage. We want them to be able to go without shots for weeks, even months, able to eat what they want without fear, able to live a normal life. So far, we have had mediocre success with our methods, mainly because the human body rejects the artificially produced insulin reservoirs we introduced."  
They had by now left the elevator and the corridor, and were entering a large lab area, most of it protected by high glass walls.  
"Due to monetary cutbacks, Global was unable to follow up on the more radical ideas of a bacteria that would protect the insulin reservoir, acting like an antibiotic, helping the body adjust. We asked for the Foundation’s help and after an evaluation period, we received new funds." De Brouille smiled. "Our progress since then has been tremendous. It has been going so well, we might be able to legalize the reservoir treatment within a year."  
"That means you have already started tests on human subjects?" Nick asked, breaking the silence he had held for a while.  
Jeanne de Brouille nodded. "Under medical observation, with the agreement of the Foundation and, of course, the patients. Each and every one is a volunteer, hoping for a cure to their problems, hoping to live a normal and free life. Ah, there is the man who can tell you more about it, Dr. Philipps."  
Philipps was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a salt-and-pepper beard, his eyes hidden behind glasses, and his head gleaming in the artificial light of the lab. He was almost bald.  
"These are our two visitors from the Foundation?" he boomed, his voice deep. "Welcome to Global."  
"Thanks. Dr. de Brouille was just telling us about the work you do here?" Michael smiled.  
"Did she? Our pride and joy, this work here. We are close to revolutionizing medical treatments of diabetics."  
"So it seems," Nick commented.  
"Why don't you show them the rest of the lab, Paul?" Jeanne addressed her colleague. "I'll be at my office in case you have more questions."  
"I'm sure we will," Nick simply said.  
"So," Michael interrupted whatever Philipps was about to say next, "you worked with our two missing colleagues a lot?"  
"I saw them a lot," the burly scientist told him. "Dr. Devereaux is a good medical biologist and she did some excellent work on approving our test rows. She talked a lot to the patients who are undergoing treatment. Her colleague, Dr. Hagen, he was very quiet. Took a lot of notes, talked to the patients as well, no idea what he asked."  
"Did you see them the day they went missing?" Nick wanted to know, eyes straying around the large lab. "Talk to them? Know where they went?"  
Philipps shook his head. "Like I said, no. I might be the head of the level one labs, but not everyone tells me all I need to know." He smiled good-naturedly.  
"What are the other two levels for?" Michael asked.  
"Level two is the medical facility. Patient treatment and such. Dr. Roche is the head of that. Level three is general storage."  
"So Dr. Devereaux and Mr. Hagen were mainly working on level two?"  
"Yes, most of the time. As I understood, their job was to tell your company how well we were proceeding. To see it all for themselves."  
Michael nodded. "Yes, that was their job. Could we talk to Dr. Roche, do you think?"  
"Sure, no problem. You'd have to come back tomorrow, though. Dr. Roche left already. His daughter's birthday." Philipps smiled broadly. "Beautiful child. She turns three today."  
"We'll be back tomorrow then."  
"Why do you work with artificially produced insulin?" Nick suddenly asked.  
"Ah, a good question. Sharp-minded." Philipps grinned again. "You see, the first successful insulin preparations came from cows and later pigs. The pancreatic islets and the insulin protein contained within them were isolated from animals slaughtered for food. The bovine and porcine insulin were purified, bottled, and sold. In the 1980's, technology had advanced to the point where we could make human insulin. The advantage would be that human insulin would have a much lower chance of inducing a reaction because it is not a foreign protein."  
“Wouldn’t my body reject it as a foreign protein?” Nick wanted to know.  
Michael shot him a surprised look. Either Nick had come prepared or he had a broader knowledge of biological facts that Michael would have given him credit for.  
"Because all humans have the exact same insulin, so we do not 'see' this as a foreign protein," Philipps explained, apparently surprised by Nick’s questions as well. "The technology which made this approach possible was the development of recombinant DNA techniques. In simple terms, the human gene which codes for the insulin protein was cloned and then put inside of bacteria. A number of tricks were performed on this gene to make the bacteria want to use it to constantly make insulin. Big vats of bacteria now make tons of human insulin. From this, pharmaceutical companies can isolate pure human insulin. It's called artificial insulin, but in effect, it's one hundred percent biological."  
"And now you just have to tell the human body that if you introduce your reservoirs into a body, not to reject it."  
"Yes, exactly. You might think of reservoirs as little containers with the insulin in it, but that's not it. The reservoir is actually nothing but the same bacteria we use in these vats. We genetically engineered it to last in the pancreas, to produce the insulin, but it is constantly attacked by the human immune system." The scientist shrugged. "We have to protect it, give it a bodyguard for as long as the human body needs to integrate the foreign bacteria into its own system."  
They had arrived at the end of the lab tour and Michael shook hands with Philipps. "Thank you for your time and the insight you gave us into your work."  
"It was my pleasure, Mr. Knight. I hope nothing bad has happened to your friends."  
“So do we,” Nick remarked neutrally.  
Nick and Michael walked back to the elevator. Nick was silent, eyes roaming over the corridor.  
"Okay, what next?" Michael asked him as they ascended to ground level.  
"I’ll check his story," was the reply. "You check on where Hagen and Devereaux were seen last: their apartments."  
“You think he’s lying?”  
“No. It sounds all very scientific and I’m sure that back at FRC, a dozen or scientists and legal clerks swarmed over it, but it never hurts to check everything twice.” Nick shot him a brief smile.  
Michael nodded. They left Global and went their separate ways.

* * *

<_Kitt?  
Kitt smiled as he heard the dark and slightly cold voice across the vast expanse of his CPU. He turned to the link that connected and bonded him to his older brother.  
<_Hello, Karr.  
<_I’m going to die of boredom soon, the AI grumbled.  
Kitt chuckled. <_Not that I’m in a more exciting spot, but surely you can run a few programs for Nick to help?  
A snort answered. <_He is doing the legwork and the hacking. All I’m doing is covering his back. The security measures are so weak, a child could do it. No finesse  
Kitt smiled at the comment. Karr liked a challenge and there was nothing more deadly for him than to sit and do nothing at all.  
<_What’s you status? Karr inquired.  
<_Michael is searching through the apartment of Dr. Devereaux. Not much luck so far. There’s also this dog that shows more than just a passing interest in my tires, he added.  
Karr sent an evil smile. <_Adopting strays again?  
<_Hardly.  
Karr seemed to listen to something and Kitt felt a shift in him.  
<_Something wrong?  
<_No. Nick’s hit another dead end. He’s not happy.  
He shifted again and part of him started to withdraw. Apparently Nick needed his cooperation. A small wave of exhilaration hit Kitt and he expectantly looked at his brother.  
<_Going fishing, Karr told him with a wry grin.  
<_Good luck and be careful.  
Roaming around a foreign mainframe was dangerous, even if it was barely under any security. Karr rumbled something dismissively and inserted a new shield to keep Kitt from getting hit by possible backlash. He had done this hundreds of times before, an expert at infiltration just like his human partner.  
Kitt went back to watching Michael search the apartment, which hadn’t gained any more exciting new turns in the last minute. At least Karr had something to keep him occupied.  
Now all he needed for complete happiness was for the dog’s owner to come by and pick the annoying little brat up.

 **Two**

Michael arrived back at their motel in the middle of the night. He was ready to just keel over in his bed and sleep till morning. No interruptions. "What an evening," he muttered. "Is Nick already in?"  
"No,” Kitt replied. “He and Karr are still investigating. Karr’s not very communicative.”  
“When is he ever?”  
Stretching, Michael walked to his room, passing by reception. It was manned by a young man who only looked up once, then went back to work. He got his key out of his pocket and opened the motel room, which was located on the second floor. Nick had the one right next to him, connected by a door which was locked at the moment. As he stepped inside and was just about to close the door he thought he saw something move.  
Michael turned the second as something crashed down on him. Because he had turned the heavy whatever-it-was -- it looked like a baseball bat -- hit his right shoulder. He cried out and fell down, rolling aside to get out of the way of his attacker. His left hand reached for any kind of weapon since his right arm felt numb and detached from his body. The baseball bat ended the life of a lamp, the noise waking some of his neighbors. Glass shreds rained over him.  
Someone, a second someone, grabbed him and he was hauled to his feet, slamming into the wall.  
"You ask too many questions," a voice snarled.  
A fist followed the words and Michael doubled over, trying to breathe but his lungs only let him wheeze. Kitt was an almost suffocating presence in his mind, but he couldn’t even understand his words. He saw the attackers in a haze, clad all in black, looming over him, the bat raised to strike again. It swung down, catching his left side and slamming him down on the floor again. He cried out and blinked back tears of pain, summoning a few shreds of coherent thinking. Michael struck at the attacker with his feet, catching him square in the chest. He was rewarded with a grunt as the attacker flew backward.  
"Go home," the rough voice hissed. "You better take this warning seriously. Next time, you die.”  
A new blow, this time to the head, ended his meager defense. He fell to the ground like a dead weight, pain racing through his head, and then darkness collapsed over him.  
   
 

Kitt was almost frantic when he surged toward the link to Karr, blasting through the shield the other AI had up with almost no effort.  
<_Michael is being attacked!  
Karr flowed back instinctively under the assault, then quickly wrapped some tendrils around his panicking brother. Kitt shivered badly, radiating mirrored pain from what had come through the link to his driver.  
So much for upholding shields, Karr thought darkly. While he didn’t like having Nick go through any amount of pain, he at least upheld his shields so Karr wouldn’t be bombarded by all the impulses. Michael and Kitt had a basically completely different relationship and that meant a much closer bond that didn’t allow strong, basic shields.  
<Nick, Knight is in trouble. He was attacked> he contacted his partner.  
<Where?> Nick asked levely.  
<In the motel>  
Nick floored the accelerator. <Status?>  
<_Kitt? How is Knight?  
<_Unconscious, Kitt replied shakily. <_Still a lot pain….  
Of course there was pain. While Knight was out cold and didn’t respond to the signals his body sent, Kitt was very much awake and unshielded. Karr shushed him gently, then turned to Nick.  
<He’s unconscious, but apparently he was hit pretty badly. Kitt’s beside himself with worry>  
Nick checked their position. <We’ll be there in fifteen>  
Karr relayed the information, holding on to the white light. <_Shield, he then instructed.  
<_Can’t, Kitt objected weakly.  
<_Of course you can! The other AI snapped. <_Do it! You are only hurting yourself this way.  
Kitt reached for Michael, checking, re-checking, needing, but there was no answer. Karr watched him collect his basic shields and felt the tremors die down eventually. He was only too well aware of what it was like to have an unconscious partner at the other end of the neuro-implant link. It was frightening because they were unable to physically help, and it was a reminder that though they were partners, there were limits.

*

"Hold still."  
Michael tried not to wince away from the stinging antibiotic salve Nick was applying to the gash on his temple. Damnit, it hurt! His head hurt, his ribs hurt, his brain was a mess of pain as well, and the ice bag in his hand was making his fingers freeze. Kitt was residing in his head, still rather disturbed from the events, and Michael had a hard time calming him. He was fully aware that all his pain had rushed back through the implant and had hit his partner. The basic shields had been blown to smithereens immediately.  
//I’m fine. I’m okay//  
//I wouldn’t call that okay//  
"There. Almost as good as new."  
He gave Nick a half-hearted glare. "I know what new feels like. This isn't it." He applied the ice pack to his throbbing head.  
"Did you get a look at who attacked you?"  
"Black outfit, two of them, baseball bat. Lights out. Nope, sorry to be of no help." He sank back into the couch and closed his eyes. "Looks like we are already high on the no-no list, one day after we arrived. Very reassuring."  
Michael had woken to a major headache and a dull throb in his ribs. No attackers though. The motel room was a mess, all his stuff turned inside out, and all drawers emptied. Nick had arrived just as he was trying to haul himself off the floor, fighting a madly dancing vision and a partner who was demanding to know how he was.  
“You should get some sleep,” Nick adviced.  
“Sounds great,” Michael groaned.  
A white pill was dropped in his hand. “Take that. It’s against the pain.”  
He didn’t ask, he simply swallowed it.  
Kitt curled up close to him as he gingerly laid down on the bed and closed his eyes. Michael smiled slightly, then drifted off into a dreamless, drug-induced sleep.  
   
 

Nick sat back in the motel armchair, his room cast in twilight. Only the bedside lamp was turned on. They had arrived just this morning and already someone was taking offence at their presence. Interesting. Talk about stirring up a hornet’s next. Michael’s injuries were all superficial but rather painful. Someone had wanted to frighten them off.  
He felt Karr’s more pronounced presence in his head. <Back already?>  
<Kitt is resting> his partner replied. <They really have to work on their shields>  
<They are different, Karr. You know that, I know that. Their shields don’t work this way>  
Karr simply hmpfed.  
Nick turned back to where his email program displayed an incoming message. He opened it.  
‘Global’s clean’ it read there. ‘Small company but they’ve managed to resist take-overs and closure in the past. Still digging, but so far, what I’ve read on their sites looks good. Can’t get any deeper right now, but if you have something you need looking through, modem me.’  
Well, only because it was clean on the outside, didn’t mean there was something rotten on the inside.

* * *

The next morning started at 8 am with breakfast and steaming hot, French roast coffee. Nick was reading the paper and on his third mug when Michael finally made it into the breakfast room. The motel was one of the few that had such a room and even served decent food to go with the nice décor. It was more like a tiny restaurant, next to the actual motel building. Nick looked perfectly awake, unlike Michael, who felt and looked dead to the world. Nick had an in-built deep sleep function. The man could exist on a minimum of sleep and nevertheless be wide awake. It was amazing.  
"Coffee?" Nick asked.  
Michael nodded and poured himself a cup from the pot standing on the breakfast table. He loved the little restaurant already for leaving coffee pots for the guests.  
Nick folded the newspaper and regarded his partner. Michael had found another painkiller on his table and had swallowed it. He knew Nick had experience with that kind of stuff and he trusted him without questions. His ribs weren’t broken, but they still throbbed dully.  
"So, what did you find out about our two missing people?"  
Michael speared a sausage. "Both stayed at Silver Sands, a small apartment complex, had made reservations for three months, and the landlord said Hagen mentioned something about a new lease contract for another three months. I ran a check back with the Foundation and they confirmed that Silver Sands had been chosen by them for their people to stay. They wanted to prevent long hours of flying or driving for both evaluators. I searched both apartments and found nothing. Not a scrap. Clean." He raised both eyebrows.  
"Too clean," Nick commented.  
"Exactly. Someone went through the apartments and cleaned up everything. No personal papers, no notebooks, no scraps. Not even a disk. I found Michelle's laptop. The hard drive was cleaned, but Kitt is working on restoring the files. Paul's laptop is gone. All in all, everything was wiped clear of traces. Dead end. You?"  
"I checked de Brouille's story and came up with no faults. Everything is as she told us. Same goes for Philipps's story on the test phase. They have the permission to go into the human test subjects phase. All are volunteers, all know the risks, and one hundred have to come out negative to get the insulin reservoir treatment legalized. The test phase takes a year and they've started six months ago. No failures so far."  
"As far as official files go,” Michael remarked with a fine smile as he wiped his plate with leftover pancake. “There is always unofficially, though.”  
MacKenzie gave him a humorless smile. "Wouldn't that be hacking?"  
“You tell me.” He poured himself a second cup and studied the breakfast room, which was only now filling meagerly with a few early risers.  
"I found scraps, but nothing conclusive. Looks like someone painstakingly didn't enter everything. Either they keep it on disks off the main system or actually in files in a drawer."  
"What scraps?"  
"Problems with the treatment, patients reacting averse to the reservoirs, something about inefficient antibodies." Nick had a mild frown on his face.  
"So there are problems. It isn't as happy as they make it?"  
"Apparently. I think a little digging into the depths of Global's data storage is in order."  
Michael grinned. "Be my guest. You are the spy of the two of us. I’ll keep Kitt company while he tries to restore the hard drive data. I’ve also planned to drive to San Luis Obispo to talk to Dr. Devereaux’s husband."  
Nick just mirrored the grin.

* * *

Getting into Global's complex was child's play: Nick used the main entrance and announced his presence. He was an official visitor to begin with, sent by FLAG, and he would use this advantage. He could revert to breaking and entering later on. Like yesterday, he was greeted by a receptionist, led to the elevators by a guard, and they went down to underground level 2, the medical facilities.  
Dr. Emanuel Roche was a thin, bespectacled blond with constantly drooping lips and sad blue eyes. He smiled as they shook hands, but he wasn't very enthused about a visitor. Maybe because the visitor was a FLAG agent, maybe because someone poked around in his precious labs.  
"We currently haven't any patients in," Roche explained as he led Nick along numerous treatment rooms, all doors open, no one inside.  
Nick only glanced at the rooms, but he took notice of what there was and what wasn't present in a flash. The rooms looked clean, squeaky clean, and everything appeared unused. As if someone had furnished them, but they had never been used. Further down were more treatment centers and some of them had nurses with charts in their hands, some sitting at computer terminals and entering data. They smiled at Roche as he walked past, giving Nick a curious look. Here, things looked a bit more like the hospital this was supposed to be. Still, no patients, no people getting treatments, nothing.  
<Odd> Karr rumbled in his mind.  
<Very> he agreed.  
"How come there is such an ebb in your work?" he asked out loud.  
"Our patients come in on a schedule. They are treated and examined in groups. We had the last group come in three days ago and the next isn't due for another two days." He gave him a smile but somehow, Nick felt little reassurance about the truth.  
"I understand. Dr. Philipps said you and Dr. Devereaux worked together?"  
"She worked with my assistant, Dr. Kaiser. Dr. Devereaux's colleague, Mr. Hagen, watched my work. He did psychological studies." Roche shrugged. "Asking patients about the treatment, how they felt, and such. We have a psychologist on the staff and he had her reports, but I understood that the Foundation asked them to conclude their own work."  
"The Foundation is investing a lot of money into this," Nick said coolly. "We would like to check on the progress ourselves. Reports can be.... changed."  
Roche shot him a look of utter disdain. "We are a renowned company, Mr. MacKenzie, not some pirate business with nothing but monetary interests on our minds. We do serious work here, medical work, to help people. We do not falsify reports for better or worse!"  
"I never accused you of doing so. When did you last see Dr. Devereaux?"  
"At lunch. She and I regularly had lunch together while she worked on this level. She was still working when I left for the afternoon."  
Nick nodded, making a few mental notes, his eyes roaming over the medical facility. Really too clean. He had seen a few hospitals in his time, too many to be comfortable with, and none had ever had this air of.... disuse.... staging.... artificial looks to it.  
"Is it possible to talk to Dr. Kaiser?"  
"Of course. He is in the lounge, I guess. He is currently working on completing the last evaluations. Follow me."  
The doctor's lounge was an oak-paneled room with a soft carpet and some plants next to a large picture of a forest. Nick felt suffocated in the room, even though it projected an air of warmth and relaxation. There was a couch group with two overstuffed arm chairs, a low table, and to one side, a small kitchenette had been placed, looking very much out of place. The room radiated a serene air, like in a gentlemen's club.  
A short, dark-haired man sat on the couch, several folders stacked on the table, scribbling notes on a pad while reading papers. When Roche entered, he looked up briefly, then smiled.  
"Harry, this is Nick MacKenzie, our visitor from the Foundation," Roche introduced them. "Mr. MacKenzie, Dr. Harald Kaiser. Our psychologist."  
"Call me Harry," the psychologist said, shaking his hand. He had a pronounced accent Nick couldn't immediately place.  
"I'm here to investigate the disappearance of two of our scientists," Nick came right to the point. "Dr. Roche told me you worked with Mr. Hagen."  
Harry nodded. "Nice guy. We spent most of the time he visited together, except when he talked to the patients, and he gave me a few interesting insights in his methods." He gestured at the stack. "And he helped with the work load. Evaluating one hundred people is quite taxing."  
"The day he disappeared, how long were you working together?"  
"Let me see..... We had finished the third group that day and Paul was busy going through his own notes, comparing them with the interviews we had taken. We left after sundown, which was around nine, to grab a bite to eat and something to drink. I dropped him off at the apartment around midnight."  
Nick was aware that Roche was still standing next to him, listening intently. Something about him made him feel on edge.  
<Karr, get me the personnel files on Roche and Kaiser>  
<Affirmative>  
"Did you notice anything unusual? People following you? Did Mr. Hagen say anything that struck you as unusual?"  
Harry shook his head. "Same as usual. We didn't even talk work while having dinner. It's my policy, you see." He grinned. "Never take home work."  
Nick studied the psychologist silently, then nodded slowly. "Thank you for your help, Harry."  
"My pleasure."  
"We better leave you to your work then," Roche commented and smiled, though the smile was far from humorous or warm. He ushered Nick toward the door. "Can I help you further?" he wanted to know as they walked back.  
"No, thank you." Nick caught sight of a door he had seen while coming to the lounge already. The archive. The place he wanted to visit. "That about concludes my visit."  
Roche nodded. "If I can be of further help, let me know. What happened was terrible."  
Yes, what happened. Tell me what happened, Dr. Roche, he thought, but none of that showed in his face.  
"I'd just like to visit one more room," Nick said instead. "Men’s room?"  
Roche, who had looked inquisitive at first, nodded. "Of course. Next to the elevators. You can't miss them on the way up."  
"Thank you."  
Nick was aware that he was being watched as he entered the room. No one was inside the gray tiled cubicle. He checked each stall for a possible watcher or listener, then walked back to the entrance door. Out of a pocket he took a roll of thin wire, carefully unwinding it. It was an optical cable to which a tiny video sensor had been attached on one end. If no one knew about it, it was impossible to tell this was more than just wire. Using the door's hinge, he cautiously stuck it through, then attached the other end to a pair of glasses he had taken with him out of his personal arsenal. They were wire frames with slightly tinted glasses. The cable now stuck in a miniature socket and the glasses would show him the image the optical node transmitted.  
The corridor appeared on them, almost empty, except one lab technician or assistant walking by. The elevators were all on the ground level or higher. No one was coming down, as it seemed. One started to move but stopped on the ground level as well. Roche had apparently disappeared in his lab again. Nick touched the left frame of the glasses and the left screen changed. He now looked at what seemed to be floor plans, miniaturized, of course. He knew where he wanted to go and he had a good idea how long it would take -- if he found what he was looking for. Hopefully Global was not back to the stone age where data storage was concerned.  
<Karr?>  
<Ready to go>  
<Do it>  
There were four seconds of silence, then, <All clear>  
Stowing the wire and slipping the glasses in his pockets again, Nick left the restroom. Striding purposefully but stealthily down the corridor, he moved quickly in on his target: the archive. The security feed from the cameras was currently rerouted through Karr’s systems and the AI would show the guards just what he wanted them to see. He wouldn't be able to do this indefinitely, but long enough for Nick to accomplish what he had come here to do.  
Nick met no one. This level was as deserted as could be. The archive was locked with the same keycode mechanism as all rooms, but the lock proved to be no problem. He was inside in less than ten seconds. As his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, he discovered that he was in a long and narrow room, almost like a tube. Running along both sides of the room were rows upon rows of filing cabinets.  
Oh, great! he thought darkly. Stone-age data storage.  
At random, Nick opened a drawer and blinked. Empty. Okay. Next one. Ten cabinets later, he let out a frustrated snarl. He was running out of time and there was nothing in here but empty office furniture! Hurrying deeper into the archive room he found nothing but more dusty cabinets with empty drawers.  
<Two minutes. You better hurry> Karr informed him.  
Nick acknowledged and jogged back to the door. Checking the outside like he had done in the restroom, he slipped out, closed and locked the door, then hurried toward the elevators. He called one down.  
He left Global ten minutes later, feeling frustrated.  
<They have to store the data somewhere!> he sent angrily. <What I found in the mainframe can't be it!>  
"Maybe it's on the third level," Karr suggested as his driver got into the car.  
"You checked for data lines, if I remember correctly. There aren't any running down there. Data transfer is close to impossible."  
Karr gave a soft rumble. "Not if they only carry disks down there and keep them under lock. Or maybe they don't keep it in the building at all."  
Nick frowned. "Yeah, maybe. Karr, poke around Global some more. See if they own buildings or land somewhere else, share holdings or something."  
"I'm on it."  
They left the parking place and drove back into the city, Nick wondering how he could possibly get to level three without anyone seeing. Nothing was impossible. It was just a matter of hacking the right places to get the blueprints, as well as choosing the right time to make the break.

 **Three**

Dr. Emanuel Roche, forty-two, divorced, married again. Two children, one out of his first marriage, and the second daughter from his current wife. Micro-biologist.  
Nick studied the short but detailed facts about the man’s life, how he had been only to the best universities and had left with the highest of degrees. He was highly intelligent and had achieved some outstanding discoveries in the past. Global had hired him five years ago to oversee the insulin reservoir treatment project. He had been responsible for the discovery of the bacteria leading to break-through success.  
Chewing on a sandwich, his idea of lunch, he went on to the second folder. Dr. Harald Kaiser had been hired by Global from NMI, an institute for medical experiments, in Germany, where he had worked as a psychologist. He was mainly responsible for contact and treatment of those patients undergoing experimental medical procedures to help them. He wasn’t married and was on a five-year-contract that would run out next year. As it seemed, Global was about to renew it, though.  
Neither of the two men had any spots on their records, except for the occasional parking ticket. They were clean. Nick closed the folder.  
“Not much help,” he muttered and tossed it into the Stealth. Then he crumbled up the wrapper of the sandwich and the chips that had gone with the ‘lunch’.  
“I doubt they’d write ‘co-conspirator’ or ‘spy’ into their personal files,” Karr remarked dryly.  
Nick grinned briefly. “Yeah, but it would help on occasions. Okay, let’s get on with it.” He got back into the car and checked the next address they had to visit.

* * *

It was late afternoon. Michael leaned back against the smooth black TransAm, one arm supporting his ribs. His eyes roamed over the busy streets, taking in all the people who had no idea what crimes occurred every day, of all the people who suffered from them Mixed emotions created a turmoil inside of him and he sighed deeply. He hadn't wanted to make this call, but it had been necessary to see if there was any information to be found. He had spent most of the day driving to San Luis Obispo and he knew he would have to break a few more traffic laws to get back by midnight tonight. The house of the Devereauxs was halfway between Pismo Beach San Luis Obispo.  
Pierre Devereaux, Michelle's husband, had been helpful enough, but Michael had detected the deep pain in his voice, as well as the resignation and dreaded knowledge that his wife was most likely dead. There was little Michael could say to comfort him, but he had tried. Pierre had had no idea what the research project had been about. Michelle had seen it as a routine examination, and as a scientist with the FRC she had been required to do hundreds such evaluations and reports. They had talked on the phone from time to time, but Michelle hadn't lost more than a few words about Global.  
"How's that reconstruction coming, Kitt?" he asked into the silence between them.  
Kitt sighed. "Hard work, but getting there. I have a few files restored already."  
The most down beating and depressing fact about the visit was a remark Pierre had made. About family. They had been trying, that they both wanted children, and if Michael interpreted this correctly..... He briefly closed his eyes. Maybe he was getting too old for this job; he was feeling personally touched by the tragedy.  
//Who wouldn’t?// Kitt said softly. //She was a human being and someone killed her, Michael//  
//I’m confronted with it on every case, Kitt// he sighed. //I should be used to it//  
//No, you shouldn’t. The time you get used to death and pain, you are no longer able to work this job//  
Michael smiled sadly. He knew Kitt was right. Even Nick, who appeared to be made out of ice, had emotions, though he hid them well. He got into the car and Kitt took over driving as he weaved through the evening traffic and then hit the highway.  
Michael scanned the text files Kitt had already reconstructed, finding personal stuff, company reports, but nothing to do with the Global case. Suddenly he stopped. There. A few lines about investigations.  
"Kitt, is it possible to do pointed reconstruction? Of files I tell you the names of?"  
"I don’t think so, Michael. The hard drive was erased and I have to go one step at a time, rebuilding all that was on it. There are no file names left."  
He sighed. Okay, so much for that. "If you run across something called 'Shroud', let me know. That's what we are looking for."  
"Will do."  
He checked the time. “Anything from Nick?”  
"Yes, I talked to Karr. Nick is currently checking Global holdings all over the coastal region."  
"What for?"  
"I don't know. Let me ask." A short silence ensued. "Nick believes Global might store important data out house."  
"So he didn't find what we were looking for in the complex." Michael frowned. "Not good."  
"He found nothing but empty filing cabinets in the supposed archive room," Kitt added. “He’s not happy; neither is Karr.”  
“I can imagine. Any idea when they'll be back?"  
"Probably tonight."  
"Okay. Give Karr out ETA, then find me a drive thru so I can grab a few things for on the way. With a whole hard drive to go through, I don’t think we’ll have time for more than just the occasional pit stop.”

* * *

Nick returned from his coastal trip early the next morning. It was already close to one and everything was mostly quiet. He parked Karr next to Kitt, who sent a soft greeting. Nick gently patted the dark roof the TransAm in a friendly gesture and then entered the motel.  
It came as a surprise that Michael was still awake and rather busy reading through a mountain of printed paper. Michael looked up from where he was sitting on the large double bed, smiling at him. The TV was running. It was a news broadcast about an accident involving pedestrians. Apparently someone had died.  
"Had a nice trip?" Michael asked.  
"Rather disappointing," Nick answered.  
"So no luck with any other Global holdings?"  
"None. Most of them are empty stretches of land with a shed on it, others are buildings under construction or homes." He spotted some food, a bag of Subway sandwiches. “Extras?”  
"Help yourself. I thought food might come in handy after a long day." Michael tossed him a can of Coke.  
"You?" Nick asked, sitting down in an armchair with his food.  
"Kitt restored the hard drive and I found a few interesting tidbits. Something is going on at Global, something they want to hide." He rubbed his neck. "And judging from my late night visitors, something big. Michelle had several files with the name 'Shroud' on them. It’s mostly tech talk and gibberish to me.” There was a polite cough coming from the comlink. “Yes, Kitt?”  
“All you have to ask for is a translation,” the AI remarked. “I talk tech.”  
Nick hid a smile behind another bite from the sandwich.  
“Okay, shoot.”  
“Shroud means anything that covers, veils, etc. In context with what I have taken from the report Dr. Devereaux typed up, it has something to do with the insulin reservoir treatment. It looks like it’s a joining of genetic material with a bacteria or virus. The bacteria or virus is hidden behind the apparently neutral genetic material, making it invisible."  
Nick raised both eyebrows. “Invisible?”  
"Dr. Devereaux was sadly very vague concerning her notes on the Shroud.”  
“Something is not right with Global and she was digging deeper toward the truth,” Michael added, “but she never said anything as to what is wrong. Looks like the Shroud can be good or bad, depending on the user, and somehow, Global is not exactly master of its own creation."  
"Were the more conclusive files erased?" Nick asked.  
"No,” Kitt answered. “These are all the files there are. She must have stored them on a disk."  
Nick chewed on his lower lip and looked at the TV where a news person was talking about something or other. "Looks like all the important facts were never in either the Global mainframe or on the laptop. Paranoid is too tame a term for this."  
“You should know,” Michael remarked with a disarming smile.  
Nick shot him an annoyed look.  
Michael’s grin widened. "There has to be a reason for all this safety,” he then went on, serious once more. “Something is wrong the new insulin treatment. We just need to find out what. And how they hide it. They are already using it on people and there is no hiding negative side effects."  
"Patient records can be faked."  
Michael shook his head. "Not on this scale. These people undergo regular treatment, their records go out to the Department of Health, I checked back on that. Doctors from the Department of Health come here once a month for personal checks."  
"They can be bribed."  
"Possible, yes, but too risky. And then there is the patient's family..."  
Nick gave him a humorless smile. "You'd be surprised what miracles money can work. Sudden amnesia is one of them."  
"We have nothing but suspicions, Nick. We need hard facts. We need to find the records."  
"Or check the patients themselves," Nick suddenly said, an idea striking. "Philipps said they are undergoing treatment in groups, so if something happens to someone in the group, the others would know. As would the family."  
"So we run checks on the one hundred people in this program?"  
"Exactly."  
Michael nodded slowly. "I'll keep on going through Michelle's files. Maybe there is something I missed."  
This was going to be a long night, what was left of it anyway. Thankfully, he had grabbed a few hours of sleep on the way back while Kitt had recovered more of the hard drive.

* * *

"Okay, two leads."  
Michael chewed on the toast Nick had acquired in the small restaurant. There wasn’t room service in a motel, but somehow Nick had convinced the restaurant people to hand him to huge plates of food. It was still early in the morning and they had pulled an all-nighter. Both men had grabbed two or three hours of sleep while their AI partners had run the required checks.  
"One: level three of Global. Highly protected by concrete layers upon layers, no optical or data transfer cables running down there as far as we can tell from the blueprints or recent additions. No way down but the elevators or the air vents."  
He looked to where Nick was on his third cup of coffee. He seemed to live on that stuff. While Michael appreciated a good cup as well, he also found food a good way to get his body to jump-start. As if because of his look, Nick dutifully bit into his cold toast.  
“Lead number two: Santa Catalina Island. Michelle mentioned it a couple of times and they had planned on going there the day before they disappeared. So maybe we should finish that plan and take a trip to the island."  
"You do that. I'll be busy checking Global. Again."  
Michael sighed dramatically. "I thought as much. When do you go in?"  
"The moment I've figured out the locking mechanism and the security around the complex."  
"What? You haven't already?" He gave Nick a mock-shocked look. "Nick, I'm deeply, deeply disappointed."  
A napkin flew his way and Michael chuckled. "You go and break into Global. I'll do some fishing off-shore.”  
//I hope you don’t plan to take me along// Kitt sounded in his head.  
//Don’t worry. You won’t get wet feet, pal//  
//I don’t have feet//  
//See?//  
//Very funny//

* * *

The sight was awe-inspiring and amazing.  
“Discovered by Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo in 1542, Santa  Catalina is one of the largest of the Channel Islands,  a chain of semi-submerged mountains between Santa  Barbara and San Diego. Most of the island has been privately owned since 1811, when the Native American population was shipped off to the mainland. The privately owned areas remained largely untouched until 1975, when they were bought out by the Santa Catalina Island Conservancy. The island is now preserved against development, and its unique ecosystem, with 400 endemic and indigenous plants, 100 species of birds and numerous animals, including wild American bison, is protected by law.”  
Michael rolled his eyes. “Thank you, Kitt. You sound like a tour guide.”  
“Always glad to help,” the AI replied, humor swinging in his voice.  
Michael lowered the binoculars and steered the speedboat away from some dangerously spiky looking rocks. The island was miles from the mainland and it was extremely expensive to stay here in the hotels or on the campgrounds, though it was one of the more preferred hiking and water sports resorts. He didn’t intend to stay here all day. They had driven all the way to Newport Beach and Michael had rented the speedboat. Kitt was parked at the wharf back on dry land. Communication was currently perfect, but in case the com-link went down, there was still the implant.  
"Okay, let's take a closer look around," he muttered as if to himself.  
To all eyes, Michael looked like one of the many tourists who came here every season. Santa Catalina Island was an impressive sight, with its high cliffs, the waves crushing against them, white foam rushing upwards, just to crash into the sea again. There were some fishing boats out, as well as tourist vessels, so Michael was perfectly hidden. He steered toward the harbor.  
Michael expertly maneuvered the boat toward a mooring. "I’ll take a look around. Any specific routes I should take? Anything in Michelle’s notes?"  
“Bulrush Canyon,” Kitt supplied helpfully. “It’s all I can find in the files.”  
Michael acknowledged and then followed the main road out of Avalon. He had a map, one the car rental agency had given him, and he had the notes from Michelle. She had said something about this island, about Global and hiding important details about the treatment. Well, he'd look around, do the touristy stuff, be nosy. It was what they had told him was in his job description.  
An hour after he had set out, Kitt told him to take one of the maintenance roads toward Bulrush Canyon, off the beaten track.

* * *

Nick ran through the schematics once more, then switched off the virtual screen of his glasses, the world around him coming back into clear focus. He was standing far away from Global's main complex, hidden in a small grove of trees, overlooking a stretch of perfectly groomed lawn that sloped gently downwards to a roughly symmetrical bump that rose out of the lawn like a wart. It was one of the many air duct openings where clear and fresh air was sucked into the system, purged by using a dozen filters and then circulated through every level. This one directly in front of him was leading more or less straight toward the third level, branching off only twice. His ticket in.  
<Karr, do it> he told his partner.  
Karr acknowledged and patched himself into the security system that overlooked this grid on the map, then gave Nick an all-clear.  
He ran across the lawn and crouched down next to the vent. It was a service grille, tightly secured with screws, as well as silent alarms. He barely had any trouble getting them all off with an electric screw driver, and with Karr doing his part on keeping this breaking-and-entering quiet, he was sliding into the dark shaft three minutes and fifty-one seconds afterwards. Nick put on arm and leg-mounted magnetic suction cups, then started his long climb down the air duct.  
He reached the first branching, took his bearings and continued, taking out the filters as he passed them. No alarm was ever set off. It was a tiring way of moving into the system, but it worked, and there were no cameras here, just air sensors. Global was not some secret government project group. They were a private company and all they had were security cameras and a few meager sensor devices. The air ducts were mainly monitored to assure that no foreign particles were inhaled. Getting out would be another treat because it meant going straight up, pulling his weight with the suction cups.  
<I'll be sore for days> Nick muttered.  
<You are out of shape> Karr remarked nastily.  
After more crawling, horizontal as well as vertical, he finally arrived at his destination. Nick crawled quietly forward and peered through a small grille that would allow him to get inside with difficulty, but it would work. He was looking down into an empty room. Using the optic cable, he checked it and found it was not only completely empty, it was also on the level he wanted to be. Large letters painted to the walls announced this was G-3. He removed the grille, landing noiselessly on his feet.  
He was in.

 **Four**

It was a beautiful day. Perfect even. Michael stopped the rental car and looked out over the ocean. Salt water and the smell of sea weed wafted toward him and he inhaled deeply. Close to him, gnarled little trees clung to the rocky cliff which fell straight into the Pacific, battered by ages of storms. Some of them were almost washed white by the salt, others still tried to survive. He turned and looked over the trail he had just come up. Trees cast a meager shade, wild flowers and bushes grew in abandon, and the rocky road snaked through it all.  
There was very little out here. No signs of human visits other than a few scattered horseback riders and hikers, no trails leading somewhere off this beaten path. Michelle had written something vague about a possible facility here. Given the actual condition all around him, Michael found it highly unlikely. Most of the island was nothing but rock and wilderness. He had driven by Bulrush Canyon and through a tiny settlement that was perched at the end of this island like the first and last point of civilization. Further out, there was nothing at all.  
Bulrush, as the town called itself, had no more than maybe a thousand inhabitants. They had a clinic, but that was a private doctor with an adjoining low house where day patients could be treated. He had had a look around the town and had seen nothing but postcard perspectives, one house as picturesque as the next.  
The road led back to the town and he wondered if he had just spent the day for nothing but a bit of sunbathing and outdoor exercise. There was nothing hidden here, except the beauty of the place.  
//Maybe she was wrong// Kitt supplied.  
//Yeah, maybe. That would mean we’d have to cover all of the island. Tall order// He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.  
Coming back into the town from the rear, he passed by a cemetery, eyes brushing over the headstones. There was a mausoleum not far away. Michael braked and looked more closely. Something had just caught his eyes. He frowned. Everything was deserted, the heat driving the locals inside the cooler houses and the few tourists who might stop here on their way to the hiking trails were not really into graveyard pictures. So, what had struck him as odd? Or was it the first sign of a sunstroke?  
"Fresh graves," he suddenly muttered.  
Several of them.  
Michael frowned. With such a small population, six fresh graves were a lot. He left the car and walked inside. A large tree overshadowed the entrance and he passed by several very old graves. He arrived at the fresh graves and stopped. There were more. Not really fresh, but not as old as the others either. All in one spot. Odd.  
He leaned down to read the names.  
Patrick Byers.  
Eve McBrian.  
George Bouvier.  
Angela Fiore.  
Steven Brown.  
Leonard Montebello.  
All had died within the last five months, Michael saw, and it made him shiver. None of them had been very old. Either they had been in a freak accident or.... or what? Byers' grave was older, grass already growing in front of the headstone, and on none of the graves were any flowers.  
//Kitt, copy the names// he instructed his partner.  
/Do you think it’s a lead?//  
//Could be. Then again, maybe it’s just a sunstroke//  
Michael straightened and left the cemetery. The nagging feeling that this had something to do with their case didn't leave. But what?  
He stopped at a small restaurant for a bite to eat, then went on his way back to Avalon.  
//Any word from Nick?// he asked when he had returned the car.  
//No. Karr says he's still infiltrating Global//  
Michael smiled humorlessly. //Favorite past-time, hm? Well, let's get back to the mainland//

* * *

Level three was a treasure throve, Nick thought as he worked on the terminal, circumventing watch dogs and passwords, going deeper and deeper into the archive computer. Storage. Yeah, right. It was storage all right, but it was data storage. He had yet to check the other rooms in this maze, but first things first. He had to give Karr a way into this system to make copies of the stuff. While his partner waded through the data files, he'd explore the rest of level three.  
<There you go, partner> he sent through the link and waited for Karr’s affirmative to appear on the screen.  
Neither of them could stay in here indefinitely, but Karr would have enough time for a complete copy sweep. And that gave Nick some more time to take a closer look around the rest of the room. Level three couldn't just be to keep a single room with computer files in it.  
He found two real storage facilities with spares for almost everything a hospital might need. Another large room housed a complete generator, and it wasn't a back-up, another was for the air vent filters. The rest were empty. Completely and utterly empty. Standing in one of the eerily echoing rooms, Nick looked around. On the walls he discovered sockets for cables. Electrical. On the floor were scuff marks, as if something had been wheeled in and out. On the ceiling were little holes, as if something had been screwed to it. This room had been in use not so long ago and he thought he smelled disinfectant.  
Pacing along the whole length, he found that the sockets as well as the scuff marks were at regular intervals. As were the holes in the ceiling. Nick inspected one of the sockets. Simple construction. Two lines out, one line in. Probably a pager and an alarm. Like a hospital pager. One line for the patient to call the nurse, one for the reply, and another outgoing line for the alarms in case something went wrong.  
Hospital.  
They had used this room to treat people in, to keep them here..... Why here? Why not in the level two facility? Walking back to the door, Nick pondered these questions. What had made Global fall back on these rooms?  
<I’m done> Karr’s voice roused him out of his thinking.  
Nick had to get back out before someone discovered what was going on. Using the same way out he had used to get in, he hoisted himself up into the air duct and crawled away.

* * *

From: 35956h@interspace.net  
To: mailbox@flagnet.org

‘You are on the right track. Go to the island. There aren’t enough people.’

Michael watched Nick as he read over the small message that had been forwarded to Kitt during the night. Nick was frowning, then looked up. He was still dressed in the dark clothes he had used for infiltrating Global and all his gear was dumped into one corner of the room.  
“Traceable?”  
“Nope. The routing path has multiple fake entries in it and when Kitt finally tracked it down it lead to a dial up line from uunet. Their records are so chaotic that it would take months to learn what account was used to log in. Any idea?”  
“Not a one. I could try and find out who set up the false account, but I think it’s a waste of energy.”  
 "I was on the island, there's nothing there," Michael said. “And what does he mean by ‘not enough people’?”  
“Beats me.” Nick smothered a yawn and massaged his neck. “Let’s just stick with what we have so far.”  
Michael handed him some papers. "That’s the complete patient list for the insulin treatment. Kitt pulled it out of the Global mainframe."  
“Why Global? The Foundation has one as well.”  
Michael smiled dimly. “Right now, I don’t trust what has been given to FLAG any more than what Global has told us.”  
Nick nodded. “Okay, so what about the list?”  
“Kitt and I have been busy little bees.” Nick just raised one eyebrow and Michael told him about his trip to the island and following what he could get out of Devereaux’s notes. “Something about those graves struck me as odd. There were too many new ones for such a small community. I checked on the town history. They numbered barely one thousand people a the best of times, and with the job offers not exactly very high, most of the young people left in the last ten or so years. Most went to Avalon, but a good part also left the island altogether. Bulrush currently has a population of exactly one thousand and five. How come six people died within the last months? There were six new graves at the tiny cemetery, all younger people."  
Nick raised an eyebrow. "Epidemic?"  
"No, hidden clues. Michelle had found out about the cemetery as well, and it is connected to Global. Then we have a new treatment to help diabetics. Nick, the people who are buried on the island are the same who took part in the treatment experiment."  
Nick scanned over the next list Michael handed him. Ten names were on it, six underlined. They matched the names on the graves.  
"If you read through Global's very official reports, they are still alive, part of the program and healthy as can be." Michael stabbed at the papers. "Something's going very wrong at Global, and they are hiding it."  
Nick frowned, gray cells moving lightning fast. "You think their treatment is not as effective as it seems, that it kills people, and they are hiding the fact by burying the dead on a faraway island and making up false records?"  
"Almost that, yes. Only that they are not making up the false records. There are interviews of the patients. Michelle and Paul did some of them, for crying out loud! There are people with the names of the deceased and they are, by all records, those dead people."  
Suddenly it struck him. "Damnit, how could I be so blind!" Nick hissed, glaring at the list.  
"Come again?"  
"Level three. The so-called storage room. There were rooms down there, empty rooms, but they had been in use not so long ago. Medical use." He shook his head, amazed at his own blindness. "As quarantine, Michael!"  
"Are you sure?"  
He gave him a wry look. "Trust me if I tell you, I know what quarantine looks like. They ripped out everything, but the general set-up, the safety doors... it's all there. I think they moved their operation after they disposed of Devereaux and Hagen."  
Michael exhaled slowly. "Anything else? Any data?"  
"Karr is still sifting through the stuff he pulled off the data tracks. It's a mess and most of it is encrypted. And no jokes about being able to do it with ease," he warned him as the tell-tale shine rose in Michael’s eyes.  
"Never even thought about it," he vowed with amusement. "So, what now? We know there is something wrong with the insulin treatment, but have neither the evidence nor an idea just what it might be. We can't go blazing into Global and shut them down without proof."  
"What do you think about going back to Catalina Island?"  
"To do what exactly?"  
"Some midnight digging."  
He grimaced. "Don't tell me you want to exhume bodies, please...."  
"Okay, I won't." Nick smiled at his sick expression. "Think about it as an archeological expedition, Michael."  
   
* * *

Getting to the island was different this time. Instead of a boat, they were flying in. Michael didn’t ask where Nick had found the helicopter, nor did he ask about who the pilot was. The man was barely recognizable under the full-face helmet. The lighthouses beneath them spread their lights like bright fingers through the night. The helicopter dropped them off about two miles from Bulrush and Nick exchanged a few words with the pilot, then they headed off toward the town.  
Michael and Nick picked their way through the silent streets. No one saw them and not even the dogs barked. They arrived at the graveyard a few minutes later and Nick checked their position. The tree hid their forms and if they didn't use lights, they'd be close to invisible. Putting on night vision goggles that showed him everything as clearly as daylight, he nodded at his partner, and they started digging.

Michael stood guard, keeping both eyes open for any unwanted visitors, while Nick knelt in the open grave, attending to his grisly task. He shot him a quick glance and grimaced. Though he had a rather resistant stomach, he wasn't exactly fond of autopsies. And the whole setting added to that. Where Nick had found the instruments necessary to do this, he had no idea. He seemed to be prepared for everything everywhere at any time. Karr would do the actual tests on the probes, though.  
Almost an hour later, Nick was done and they quickly shoveled the grave closed again. It didn't look much different than before, except maybe a tad more fresh, but Michael hoped that no one visited the cemetery all too often.  
Three hours after arriving on the island, they were on their way back to the main land, using the helicopter that had waited for them.

 **Five**

Michael had slept about four hours that and almost inhaled his coffee the next morning.  
"So, after pulling an all-nighter, what is your prognosis, Dr. MacKenzie?" he asked, studying Nick, who looked as fresh as after a full night of sleep.  
"The patient is dead," Nick replied and it earned him a dark but slightly amused look. "Other than that, Karr found multiple tumor cells in the samples, as well as signs of insulin overdose."  
"Tumors?"  
"Cancer," he clarified.  
Michael frowned. "None of the patients had a cancer record. They were checked head to toe before they entered the program."  
"Exactly. And what Global told us, the reservoir is to keep insulin levels normal. The hybrid drug is to control production of insulin, keep it from spreading uncontrollably. High levels of insulin and glucose can result in heart disease, diabetes, cancer; you name it," he said, reading from his laptop. "Insulin is produced by the body in response to rising levels of glucose in the blood after a carbohydrate rich meal. The insulin takes the glucose out of the blood and deposits it into glycogen or adipose tissue - usually the latter. Since insulin is an anabolic hormone, in large amounts it encourages tumor cell growth."  
"Cancer. Tumors." Michael studied the contents of his mug. "Shroud. The hybrid drug that destroys instead of heals."  
"Most likely. Patients died and they replaced them with others. Where they got them from, how much they pay them.... it's anyone's guess." Nick leaned back.  
"And we still need more proof. This is just surface evidence. We need more. How's Karr doing with the encryptions?"  
"Almost done. What he has so far makes little sense as such." Nick looked slightly frustrated.  
"How about breakfast then? Even if it is," Michael looked at his watch and grimaced, "eleven already."  
Nick agreed. "After that, we might want to track down the dead people. Maybe we find something."  
He shrugged. Any idea was as good as the next.

* * *

Visiting the 'impostors' was pushed further down their list of to-do's when Karr announced he was done. Michael and Nick retreated to the motel room, placed a 'do not disturb' sign on both doors, and went to work. Two hours later, a more or less clear picture had formed.  
Global was a small and respected company, but one that was losing funding and didn't have enough money coming in to run their more aspiring and experimental ideas. So they had turned to FLAG, approaching them with the idea of the reservoir treatment. So far, so good. They had known that already. What had not been made public was that the whole treatment had been on shaky ground to begin with. Scientists and technicians had tried to merge the two bacteria, and lab tests had been successful, but each time it had been introduced into a living being, it had had devastating results. Lab rats had died of tumors and insulin shock because the chimera had not worked as it should have.  
Seeing their last hope for funds go down the drain, Global had reversed to other methods. One hundred patients had to survive the procedure, had to show positive results, so the company replaced the dead and dying with new people. Names on paper.  
"If the first test run is successful, Global has enough time to perfect the bacteria. They won't go out on the market immediately," Nick said. "They'll get more funds, maybe even from the government, set a new time frame for the second test run, and no one will ever know about the first fatal error."  
Michael nodded. "Perfect play. All we need now are people who are willing to testify. We have stolen data tracks and illegally exhumed a person. Nothing like that will hold up against Global in court, though it would start an investigation." He frowned. "Still, witnesses would be better."  
"So we start talking to people," Nick decided. "We know at least six of the doubles. Let's pay them a visit."

* * *

The home of George Bouvier was a small, two-story building typical of this region. There was a tiny garden in front of it, a double garage to the left, and from the looks, a larger garden behind the house. Nick rang the bell and waited patiently. It had taken him almost five hours to get here, mainly due to traffic. Michael had taken over checking out three of the names on the list, leaving him with the other three. Bouvier was candidate number two. The other had simply refused to talk to him. The door opened and he looked at a stocky, balding man in his fifties, bushy eyebrows drawn together in a scowl.  
"Yes?"  
"My name is Nicholas MacKenzie. I'm with the Foundation for Law and Government, Mr. Bouvier," he said smoothly. "I'd like to talk to you about the insulin program by Global you are in."  
The face closed up. "I'm sorry, but I'm not allowed to talk to reporters."  
"I'm not a reporter. I work for the company who is funding this program." Bouvier was about to close the door when Nick held out a hand and forced it partially open. "Mr. Bouvier, if that is really you, people have already died for this. More will if you keep playing this charade!"  
There was a brief hesitation. "I don't know what you are talking about," Bouvier then snarled and pushed harder at the door.  
Nick didn't give. "You want to be a killer? Then again, you already are. George Bouvier is dead and lies buried at a small cemetery on Catalina Island, isn't that so?"  
"Get out before I call the police!" Bouvier screamed.  
"If you change your mind, call me," Nick simply said and flicked a business card through the remaining slit. Then he let go of the door and turned, not even looking back as he walked to Karr.  
"You think he will call?"  
"Maybe," he muttered as he slipped into the driver’s seat. "Did Michael have any more luck?"  
"Not so far. Both of the suspects weren't home."  
Nick frowned. "That's either coincidence, or we stirred up some more dust and Global is cutting its losses."  
He drove onto the highway. He had one more person to visit, but something inside of him told him that the man might not even be there.  
"Oh, what the heck!" he exclaimed and took the next exit.  
"Nick?" Karr inquired.  
"Call Michael. Tell him I'm staying here. If Bouvier gets cold feet, he'll make a run. If Global is about to remove all traces, we’d better keep an eye on him just in case."

* * *

Michael was still on the road, on his way back to the motel actually, and listening to the news when Nick's message came in. It made sense and he could follow his friend’s logic. Having met neither of his candidates, he suspected something similar -- or a great coincidence.  
"... accident occurred this morning," the broadcaster said and he was torn out of his thoughts. "A car collided with a train. Both driver and passenger died immediately. Apparently a faulty signal gave the car a green light to drive over the crossing while the train was approaching at high speed. Though the train driver engaged the brkaes immediately, the car was hit and pushed along until it came to a stand still. Police are investigating into a possible computer failure at this crossing."  
He listened with half an ear, then his mind suddenly snapped into think mode.  
"Kitt," she said. "Get me the police files on any accidents and deaths in the last twenty-four to thirty-six hours. I also want everything on the investigation into this train accident. I want to know the names of the people who died."  
"Any special reason?" Kitt asked as he processed the request.  
"A hunch."  
Thirty-five minutes and several miles later, Michael had a list and was going through it as Kitt drove on. He narrowed it all down to a few special accidents or home accidents where someone had died. And he read the investigation report into the train accident, which was currently unfinished. Michael wasn't really interested in the investigations as such anyway. When the names appeared, he nodded once. Patrick Byers and Eve McBrian. The two people he had tried to find. Two more names found on the narrowed down list matched as well.  
"Call Nick. Give him the information. I think Bouvier is a target."  
Very much so. Michael had no illusions about the fates of the others they hadn't been able to find. Global was covering its tracks.  
"Not if I can help it," he whispered. "Get me Devon," he ordered.  
Michael had an idea. Going in by force was no option when it came to company strategies. He might be able to seize data and beat the hell out of people, but it wouldn't stand up in court. This was politics and lawyers. He had to play it by the rules and the rules were easy. It was something he had learned from Nick, who was rather good at these law games.  
“Michael!” Devon greeted him, looking like he had been drawn away from a relaxing cup of tea and a book. “How is it going?”  
Michael smiled grimly. “Down the drain if we can’t stop it. Listen, Devon, I need your help and it has to be done quickly…..”  
Half an hour later he had what he needed and he had it on time. Global had another hour to pull out and disappear, then Michael would be on them. Kitt's headlights pierced the darkness as he shot over the highway.

 **Six**

Nick had parked Karr in a position that would allow him to watch Bouvier's home and also be inconspicuous. Bouvier hadn't left the house, but he had made a call and Karr had listened in. He had traced it back to San Diego, but had lost it there. Still, Nick had a pretty good idea who he had called.  
"I have movement. Two people are approaching the house," Karr said into the silence of the car.  
"Gotcha." He slid out of the car.  
Two men in black suits walked up the little walkway to the house and one knocked. The door was opened almost immediately and Bouvier ushered them inside. Nick stealthily slipped through the small garden and up to one window. Peering through the curtains, he discovered it was the kitchen.  
<Around the back of the house> Karr guided him. <I detect three heat sources>  
He crouched beneath the back window and, using the same wire cable he had used for Global, he slipped on his glasses. The optical cable gave him a perfect view of the living room and the audio attachment let him in on the conversation, though it sounded slightly muffled.  
"He knows!" Bouvier just said, sounding panicky.  
"We will take care of the problem," one of them men said.  
"You said so before and then two people were killed! That's why those agents are here!" Bouvier wrung his hands. "They are onto me."  
"Like I said, we will take care of the problem," number one said again, smiling.  
Nick didn't like the smile.  
"First we have to get you to safety," number two continued. "It will throw the FLAG agents off the track."  
Bouvier nodded and Nick got the growing feeling that something would not go as Bouvier thought it would.  
"What about my money?" he now asked.  
"It will be transferred into your account. Don't worry," was the oily reassurance.  
Anyone with two braincells and half a mind would have heard the unspoken death sentence in the words, but not Bouvier. He grabbed an already packed bag and followed the two men outside.  
<Track them> Nick ordered as he moved back around the house and ran over to Karr.  
"Got them. Moving down toward the highway."  
"Then let's follow them."

The car drove through the city and onto the highway, then exited onto a small side road and drove straight into a forest. Nick frowned, following the car with all lights off as they slipped through the dark forest. Karr easily kept track of the target. Michael's message about the dead doubles had come in five minutes earlier and he had acknowledged with a grim expression.  
The two men and their passenger stopped in a small clearing and both got out. One walked to the back and opened the door, hauling out the motionless form of George Bouvier. Nick cursed under his breath.  
"He's still alive," Karr reported when Nick asked. "But he seems to be unconscious."  
Bouvier was dragged to the driver's side, placed into the seat, and the door closed. While number one was busy with the unconscious man, number two had taken a long tube out of the trunk and had attached it to the exhaust. Now number one reached inside the car through the passenger door and started the car while number two stuck the tube through the partially opened window. Number one closed the passenger side door as well and the two regarded their work.  
Nick felt his stomach contract and he cursed fluently. The two men disappeared into the forest and minutes later he heard the unmistakable sounds of motorbike engines. Two bikes passed by him at high speed, but none saw him.  
Nick didn't lose any time. He ran toward the car, yanked off the tube at the exhaust, and then fumbled with the door. A cloud of carbondioxide rose out of the car's interior and he coughed, grabed Bouvier and hauled him outside. Coughing more, he dumped him a few feet away, then went back to the car to cut off the engine.  
Bouvier came around as Nick jogged back, coughing violently, retching, but thankfully not throwing up. His face was drawn in a grimace and he tried to breathe, but he was interrupted by more coughing each time.  
"What.... you!" he exclaimed, coughing more.  
Nick smiled. "Yes, me."  
"What happened? What... what are you doing here?"  
"You were about to get killed, Mr. Bouvier. By the people you called for help. By the people who already killed. Your friends are already dead. Everyone who doubled for a previously deceased person is dead, Mr. Bouvier."  
The man paled visibly. "Non...."  
"Quite the truth. FLAG will protect you under one condition: tell us what is going on at Global. Everything. If you will be the witness, we can provide the necessary protection."  
Bouvier swallowed reflexively. After a minute or two, he nodded.

* * *

Michael pulled up to the completely empty parking lot. Empty except one car. Jeanne de Brouille was still in the office. His plan was simple: go in and close down the whole operation. He had everything he needed, in printed form, and there was nothing to stop him.  
Except an incoming call.  
Annoyed, he punched a button and Nick's voice rang out of the speakers. "Michael? I got our witness. He's a bit worse for wear, but talkative. We'll have his statement and all the names."  
"Good. I'll just make sure Global hasn't cleared out their files yet."  
"Warrant?"  
"Got it. It's all legal. Devon has taken care of alerting the Foundation lawyers. He’s sending in the FBI. We are closing down Global." He smiled as she discovered several dark Expedition SUVs pulling up, men in both suits and combat gear climbing out. Whatever Devon had done to get them moving that fast, it had been really good.  
"I'll get Bouvier to a safe location. Will you be all right?"  
Michael rolled his eyes. "I'll be fine. You worry about the witness, let me deal with Global." With that he cut the connection, got out of Kitt and walked toward the main entrance.

* * *

The sun was shining, but the cloudy sky made it almost impossible to catch more than ten minutes in it before it was hidden behind the clouds once more. Michael spied his partner sitting at one of the tables of a Chinese fast food restaurant. He had a Styrofoam plate in front of him, noodles piled on it with chicken and some veggies in them.  
"I take it all went well?" Nick asked as Michael sat down.  
They hadn't seen each other since Michael had secured Global's complete data files and the FBI had closed down all operations. Nick had been busy getting Bouvier to the pick-up point where two agents had taken over. He would be in for a whole lot of debriefing, Michael thought. More FBI agents were swarming over the tiny cemetery on Santa Catalina and securing the graves, ready to unearth the bodies.  
"All went perfectly well. Looks like we solved the case and will be out of here soon."  
Nick had to agree. There was nothing left to do for them.  
"What did Bouvier tell you?" Michael asked. "Did he know about agent Devereaux's fate?"  
"Yes. They killed her, as well as Hagen" Nick replied flatly. "The FBI is looking for the bodies."  
“Any idea who sent us the email?”  
“None. We might never know.” Nick cleaned up the last of his Chinese.  
“So, what’s next?” Michael asked.  
“Karr and I are going to Colorado Springs.”  
“Case, I presume?”  
“You presume correctly.”  
They left about half an hour later, Nick for Colorado Springs, Michael for home.

* * *

Two weeks later, Michael received the complete file on Global from Devon. He had made it a habit to check up on what developed out of cases where he had helped. Another habit he had acquired in the last couple of years.  
All in all, ten people had died within six months of treating humans with the new medication. All had been replaced by those who had been willing to play the part for a large amount of money. Families of the deceased had been silenced the same way. Or through threats, whatever worked best.  
Bouvier had given a full and water-tight testimony and was currently under FBI protection. All of Global's staff had been taken into custody, each one questioned relentlessly, and after the first week, those who had been innocent had been released. De Brouille had known. She had been the company's head and had had everything under control right from the start. Philippe was her accomplice, but Kaiser hadn't known. The psychologist had come in after the first deaths to do the profiles on the patients, and he had never met the deceased. At least not all of them. He had testified that he had questioned his own memories whether or not this was the patient he had interviewed before, but with one hundred people, it was never easy.  
The whole procedure would take months to come to a conclusion, maybe even longer. Each shred of evidence was collected and stored and the lawyers were busy writing everything down. Of the two missing scientists, one had been found. One of the bodies in the graves had turned out to be Michelle Deveraux’s, buried with one of the patients. Paul Hagen was still missing.  
Michael let the file drop onto the couch table. He hated this case, but there was nothing he could change about it. Nothing at all. It had cost six people their lives because they had hoped for a treatment to help them with their medical problems. He was convinced Global wasn’t the only company out there doing this, but at least it had been the company they had been able to apprehend.  
“The game starts in about two hours!” he called.  
“You said so before.” Nick was dressed in jeans and a simple, black T-shirt, a baseball cap on his head. “And I told you we’ll be on time.” He had arrived barely half an hour ago from wherever he had been; Michael rarely inquired.  
“It’s just that I won’t let good tickets go to waste,” Michael said and got off the couch, grinning. “Not every day you get the best of the best.”  
And it wasn’t every day he was given them for free. It had been a gift from Devon, who had no use for baseball tickets and had been glad to give them to Michael. Nick grabbed his jacket and followed Michael over to Kitt. Parking lots would be packed full and Nick had simply shrugged, telling Michael that Karr wouldn’t mind spending the day in the silence of the warehouse. Away from the noise crowds and gawking teenagers of all ages.  
Kitt left the warehouse five minutes later.


End file.
